Superhero
by ihadtoputitsomewhere
Summary: Panic Attack (and aftermath...?)
1. Chapter 1

It doesn't come all at once.

It starts off barely noticeable, other people can't see it, but you can definitely feel it.

A dull sense of fear somewhere in the back of your brain. You get worried that something might go wrong, but you try and convince yourself that it's nothing that needs attention right this minute.

After that is when you start to get jumpy. You flinch at the slightest touch, but play it off as nothing because you don't want other people to know what's really going on.

But people start to notice anyway.

You notice that people are watching you, as if you're a time bomb that's inevitably going to explode.

That's when you feel the shakiness. It's in your hands, your knees, your chest, everywhere. You can't write because you can't stop trembling and dropping the pen. People notice that too.

Now you can't concentrate because of all these people staring at you, anticipating the worst. You feel restless, fidgety, constantly tapping your foot or bouncing your knee or clicking your pen.

You tell yourself that it's nothing, that you just need to get someplace where you can get a grip without the whole world watching you. But the fact that you can't catch your breath tells you otherwise, and the pounding headache doesn't do you much good either.

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

That's when it hits you. Like a brick wall. In the middle of the hallway. You duck into an empty classroom and shut the door.

That sense of a constant, overwhelming, crushing fear that something terrible is about to happen finally gets to you and you have no choice but to let it in, let it take over.

Your heart is racing at an unhealthy rate and it feels like it could burst out of your chest. Your breathing is rapid and shallow. You're unable to take a full breath without choking. You're hyperventilating and there's nothing you can do.

That's the worst part, that feeling of helplessness and definite failure. You can't do this alone, you need someone, anyone to help you find your way through this.

Now you literally can't breathe, because the muscles in your chest are so tensed up that they won't allow any oxygen in.

The tears that brimmed your eyes before now stream down your cheeks, and you can taste the salt.

You try and remember what they told you, to try and slow your breathing, focus on steadying your breath. None of that is working now because you don't have someone coaching you through it, it's just you and this hell you're going through.

You're coughing, choking on your own breath. Taking in short, gasp-like breaths and not letting nearly enough back out.

Your vision starts to get clouded and you feel dizzy. Your eyes feel heavy as you try desperately not to black out… again.

That's when they find you. That one classmate who happened to walk into the wrong room kneels down with you, ready to fight for you.

They coach you through the anxiety until you can begin to breathe relatively normally again. They sit with you and hold your hand and tell you everything is going to be okay and rub circles on your back and tell you to shut your eyes and try to relax because the worst is over. These people save your life in more than one way.

They are your superhero. Lydia is my superhero.


	2. Chapter 2

** Stiles' POV**

She saved me. I don't know how she did it but she did. She saved me, and if she hadn't showed up I don't know what I would have done. This was a particularly bad one, the attack. Normally I would have been able to talk myself down but, this time was different. It was…. Scary. Insanely scary, terrifying even. But she was there. Lydia was there, with me, it was _real._ She really had been there, it wasn't some crazy dream or made up fantasy.

"You okay?" she whispered, snapping me out of my little inner monologue.

"Yeah, yeah I'll be fine. " I said, a little too fast, a little too rehearsed.

"Stiles I… you don't have to do that. Not here, not with me. You can tell me, like really tell me. Are you okay?"

Shit. I could literally feel her knocking down my wall that had kept so many others out for so long. I could feel her taking it apart, brick by brick.

"I don't know." I whispered finally, barely loud enough for her to hear. My head suddenly felt heavy and I let my chin drop to my chest. I felt her arms slowly wrap around me as she pulled me in for a hug. It wasn't a hug like she gave her friends after not seeing them from after school Tuesday until school started Wednesday morning, it was different, it felt different. It felt good. I put my chin on her shoulder, closed my eyes, and breathed her in. Vanilla. She smelled like vanilla, and I loved it. Mom used to have vanilla scented candles all over the house. Lydia smelled like home. Lydia made me feel… safe.

"Why don't I swing by after school? Movies and pizza sound okay?" she said as she pulled away.

"Will you? I just, I don't know, I just don't really want to be alone right now."

She cupped my cheek in her hand, and I melted into her touch.

"Stiles, you're not alone. You're never alone. I'm here. Okay?"

"Okay. And Lydia, thanks for, uh…"

"It's alright. I know." She smiled, her eyes filled with understanding and concern. The bell rang, signaling the end of 8th period, and we both grabbed our backpacks and headed back out into the harsh reality that was high school.

**Lydia's POV**

"Okay, The Avengers or 21 Jump Street?" I asked as I held up both DVDs.

"Are you kidding me? Avengers, every time. No question." Stiles said matter-of-factly. His untamed brown hair spiked in all different directions, making him look like he just rolled out of bed. Typical.

"Fine, Avengers it is. Want another slice?" I asked as I reached for my second slice of sausage pizza.

"Yeah, toss me two, would you?" I handed him the pizza and then popped the DVD into his laptop. We sat on his bed, our backs up against his backboard and our shoulders barely touching. Throughout the movie, Stiles made comments about pretty much everything. He would ask me if I noticed small details and important pieces of dialogue, which obviously I did, but I played along in this little game just to humor Stiles. About ¾ of the way in, I noticed the comments had ceased. Next to me, Stiles was asleep, his head dropped to the side, almost touching my shoulder. I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck. I went to lower the volume a bit, when Stiles stirred slightly, still deeply asleep. The full weight of his head was now resting on my shoulder, and I smiled because he just seemed so… peaceful. Nothing like the Stiles earlier, all jumpy and shaky. He was still, his breathing slow and steady. Calm. Sure. Safe.

**Stiles' POV**

You know when you're dreaming, and you can feel yourself falling, but there's nothing you can do about it? Yeah, that feeling blows ass. Now, I knew I was falling, I could feel it, but I also knew it was only a dream. Normally, you'd wake up before you hit the ground.

Not me.

I hit the ground. Hard.

I jolted awake, covered in cold sweat and unable to catch my breath. It's just a dream. It's just a dream. It's just a dream. It played over and over in my head, as if I was reassuring myself that everything was actually fine and it was just my brain playing tricks on me.

I sat upright, and it took me a second to realize where I was, and that she was still here. In my bed. (_Holy shit. _Lydia Martin is in _my bed?_ )

"Stiles?" I heard her whisper. Her arm snaked up my back, and she threaded her hand through my hair, which was plastered against my neck with sweat. Her free hand stroked my arm, her cool hands tracing the veins. I immediately felt myself relax at her touch, and I think she felt it too because she smiled knowingly at me and told me that it was just a dream, that it wasn't real. But it felt all too real to me. Breathing suddenly felt more labored as I thought about the dream, the hopelessness, and the darkness that surrounded me. I felt like my throat was closing, I couldn't inhale enough.

"Stiles, hey, everything is going to be okay. You're safe here, with me, you're safe. It's okay. Try and relax okay?" I nodded, but couldn't say anything back. I didn't trust myself to say anything without my voice breaking. She pulled me with her as she laid back down in my bed.

"Lydia?" I whispered.

"Yeah Stiles?"

"How come you're… I mean… why did you-"

"Why did I stay?"

I nodded.

"Well if you must know, this isn't exactly what I thought was going to happen. Far from it, actually. After the movie ended, you were already asleep, so I tried to take off without waking you up. But then you started, like, mumbling. I couldn't make it out at first, but finally I understood. Over and over, the same thing. 'Don't let them in'. After that you balled up your fists so hard I thought you might break skin. Your breathing got really unsteady and it sounded like you couldn't take in enough. So I stayed. I couldn't just leave you like that, all alone."

We stayed silent for a beat, but it was a comfortable silence, not filled with meaningless words or awkward, half-hearted laughs. Then she spoke up.

"Do you, uh… do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head. "No, no not really. I just… I can't. I can't."

"Okay, it's okay, I understand."

Just then I realized that my hands were shaking, trembling violently and I couldn't make it stop no matter what I did. She noticed it too.

"Give me your hand." She said calmly as she held out her hand, waiting for me to place mine in it.

"What?"

"Give me your hand." She repeated.

I slowly lifted my unsteady hand and put it in hers. She turned it over so that she was looking at my palm. Very softly, she ran two fingers down my thumb. She ran them across the bottom of my hand, and back up my pinky. My eyes fluttered shut at her careful touch. She looped down across my palm and up my pointer finger, then finally up my middle finger. Then her fingers trailed vertically across my palm, onto the top of my wrist.

"What are these?" She asked softly, her fingers tracing the horizontal scars that lined my wrist. My eyes shot open and I ripped my hand away, shoving them underneath the covers.

"They're nothing, sorry." I said too quickly.

"Stiles. Let me see. It's alright, I promise."

I gave my hand back to her, and her fingers found the scars once again.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked.

"Because they're disgusting."

She traced them, ran her fingers across each and every one of my scars, and I watched cautiously as she did so.

"Battle scars." She said softly.

"Huh?"

"They're not disgusting, they're battle scars. They're proof that you fought, that you were brave. They're proof that you were a soldier, a warrior, a gladiator. And the fact that you're sitting here right now is proof that you won. You won, Stiles. You're here and you won. And that's all that matters, that you're here with me. I'm so proud of you for being here with me."

She lifted my hand up to her mouth and placed the softest kiss I've ever felt on the top of my knuckles. I didn't know it until now, but the words that just came out of Lydia Martin's mouth were exactly what I needed to hear right now. They're what I've always needed to hear; I just never realized that before.

"Lydia?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"Saving me."

"I'm here for you Stiles, always."

"Always?"

"Always."

And with that, she snuggled closer to me, her head on my shoulder, her arm wrapped protectively around my waist. Her hair smelled nice, like vanilla.

Like home.


	3. Chapter 3

Lydia came over after school again today. We didn't really talk about what happened last night at school, but then again we didn't really need to. She knew. I knew. That was it. I was surprised at the simplicity of it all. Surprised, but grateful. Honestly, thank god for Lydia Martin because I don't know what would have happened if she hadn't… anyway, she came over again today. Dad was at work till late so we had the house to ourselves for a while. Now I know what you're thinking, and it's not like that. Lydia doesn't like me like _that_.

"Stiles, you're going to burn them." Lydia laughed as she pointed out the rapidly darkening grilled cheeses I was making for dinner.

"Oh shit." I said under my breath as I turned the gas burner off. I grabbed two plates and slide one sandwich on each, giving her the one that was slightly less burnt. I grabbed the ketchup from the fridge and sat down beside her.

"Ketchup?" she asked.

"Don't judge until you've tried it." I retorted, squirting some onto my plate. She reached over and dipped a corner of her grilled cheese into the little mountain of ketchup.

"It's… actually not bad."

"See? Told you so." We ate in silence for a bit before I blurted out, "So, should we talk about last night? I mean I don't want you to think I'm not cool with what happened because trust me, I'm totally okay with it. I just, I don't know, I guess I wanted to know if you were okay with it. Because the last thing I want to do is—"

"Stiles! Look, it's okay. Really, I'm totally okay with what happened. Besides, it's not like we, you know, had sex or anything."

"Right, yeah, because we didn't… I mean we would never—"

"Right. But I mean as long as we're talking about last night, um, how are you?"

I looked up from the spot on my plate my eyes had been fixed on and into her green eyes, bright with curiosity.

"I'm fine. Really I am, I just, I don't know. Just a little wigged out I guess."

"Wigged out about what?"

"It's nothing, really it's—" I looked down again.

"Stiles, remember, you don't have to do that with me. You can tell me, you can trust me."

I knew that. But still, something was pulling at me, trying to keep everything contained inside. She continued.

"Stiles, whatever this is, whatever happened to you, you can tell me. But you have to just, let it go. Whatever it was, you have to let it go."

"No, no, no, it's not me. It's not what happened to me. It's, it's what's happening to everyone else. Scott, Allison, Derek, Isaac, my dad, you. There's just so much pain, and it's everywhere. And I don't know how not to notice it. There's so much it's starting to hurt _me. _I thought I was just sore from lacrosse practice, but it's literally making me ache. It feels like all of the muscles in my body are tensed up so tight, and squeezed so close, I can't even take a full breath because it literally hurts to breathe." I had to pause because I was running out of breath.

She didn't say anything at first. Instead, Lydia put her hand on my cheek and wiped the tears that I hadn't even realized were falling. She leaned forward and pulled my forehead against hers. I closed my eyes for what seemed like the first time in forever. She moved her hand to the back of my neck and played with the short hairs that grew there. I sighed in relief, wanting so badly to thank her, but I couldn't make myself speak. Instead I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my head in her shoulder.

Neither of us said anything. We didn't need to. Words were uncomfortable and complicated. Words were misleading. Actions always said more, body language, movements, that's what really told people how you felt. Right now I felt safe, protected, sheltered from the pain that was trying to infest my mind. She pulled away and whispered,

"Come with me."

She took my hand and led me to the couch in our living room. I sat down and she walked around the back.

"Try and relax, okay? And, um, tell me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

" 'Kay" I mumbled, still trying to figure out exactly what she was—oh.

She pressed her thumbs into my back, just below my neck, in between my shoulder blade. She worked her way around, and I could literally feel some of the aches and tension leave my body. My eyes fluttered closed and I had to suppress a moan as she ran her fingertips into my hair, twisting the strands in between each digit. She moved to the nape of my neck and squeezed ever so gently. Then she slid her hands under the collar of my shirt, touching the bare skin. I took in a shallow breath as she gently ran her nails up and down my back. I couldn't hold it in any longer. A low moan escaped the back of my throat, and I heard Lydia laugh softly.

"You okay?" she whispered.

I only nodded. Was she being serious? Okay? This was… perfection. I could finally let my guard down and actually step back, take a breather. I could finally let go. And it felt amazing. She leaned in close; I could feel the warmth of her breath. She pressed her lips against my neck, then slowly made her way up to my jawline. Then, to my mouth. Her lips cautiously grazed over mine, but she gained confidence as we leaned into each other, filled with wonder and awe. I shifted on the couch, my lips never leaving hers, and held her face to deepen the kiss. It was amazing, I never knew it was even possible for someone's lips to be that soft, to feel so good. It felt right, kissing Lydia felt right. And I never wanted it to end.

We sat there on the couch for hours, my head in her lap as she played with my hair. We watched a few episodes of The Big Bang Theory before my eyelids started to feel heavy, and I allowed them to fall shut. We sat there, grateful for the simplicity of it all.

Our unfinished grilled cheese sandwiches and ketchup still sitting on the kitchen table.


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. I swung my legs over the edge of the couch and stood up, only to fall back down because my head was swimming and I felt incredibly dizzy. I couldn't blink the cloudy sensation out of my eyes, so I squeezed them shut and pushed my palms into them, hoping to rub out some of the blur.

"Hey kiddo, how are you feeling?" I heard my dad call from the kitchen.

"Fine, just a little light headed I think. Where's Lydia?"

"Left about an hour ago. I came in from the station to find you two asleep on the sofa. You've been looking pretty wiped out lately so I figured I'd leave you guys be for a bit longer."

I looked down at my phone to check the time. 10:37pm. Shit, I'd been out for three and a half hours? It seemed like 20 minutes. I must have been more exhausted than I thought.

"Do you, uh, need any help with those?" I asked, gesturing to the dirty dishes in the soapy sink.

"No, no I got this. Why don't you hit the showers and then get to bed? I think you could really use some more rest."

"'Kay. Thanks, dad." I said as I shuffled lazily towards the stairs. "Dad?"

"Yeah kiddo?"

"Love you."

He smiled. "Love you too. Get some rest, I'll see you in the morning."

I turned to go upstairs, and suddenly the 18 steps seemed to go on for miles. My legs started shaking and I had to grip the railing as if I was holding on for dear life. I started to feel dizzy again, but this time the dizziness brought nausea with it. I bolted to the bathroom and crouched over the toilet. My stomach lurched and my eyes burned with tears. I coughed like crazy, my face already shiny with cold sweat. Suddenly I felt a hand on my back, and I turned to see my dad crouching beside me. He held a damp towel to the back of my neck, then to my forehead.

"It's alright Stiles, just let it out. The worst is over, you're going to be fine." He said soothingly, rubbing circles on my back as he spoke. After the worst had passed, he picked me up under my armpits and replaced my clothes, which were now wet with sweat and spotted with vomit, with a big hoodie and track pants. He led me to my bed and laid me down. I felt terrible, weak from throwing up, shaky and cold, but also burning hot at the same time, I couldn't even bring my self to wipe the tears that had fallen and dried on my face.

"Sorry." I said with a weak smile.

"Shh, it's okay Stiles. You don't need to be sorry. It happens, it'll pass." Dad said as he wiped away the hair that was plastered to my forehead with sweat.

"No, I mean, sorry for everything that has happened the past few weeks. I haven't been myself lately, and haven't been around when you needed me to—"My breath got caught in my throat, triggering a coughing fit.

"Stiles, it's alright. You didn't do anything wrong. Right now I need you to try and get some rest. Hopefully this will pass by tomorrow, but if not I'll call Melissa and make an appointment for you. Close your eyes and get some sleep. I'll be right outside if you need me, okay?" I nodded.

_I was standing in the middle of the forest. It was dark and I was barefoot, the mud and leaves mushed between my toes. I looked to my right; there was a huge tree stump. I was all alone. Or so I thought._

_"We're coming Sitles. We're coming soon, and we're coming for you. There's nowhere you can run, there's nowhere you can hide. It's too late for you Stiles." The voice laughed, then whispered, _

_"We're already here." _

_Then I saw it. The source of the voice was a man, hunched over and wearing a huge coat. His face was wrapped in bandages, only revealing his mouth. His lips were black and his teeth were like spears, silver and deadly. _

_"Wh—Who are you?" I asked shakily._

_"Not who are you, Stiles, but who are we." He came towards me._

_"What do you want from me?" I backed away from…whatever this thing was. It started laughing again._

_"Oh, no Stiles. I already have what I want from you. I have power, control. I have your mind. I can make you think, do, and say whatever we want you to. Don't believe me? Look down."_

_I did. I looked down. The ground began to move and suddenly roots shot out and wrapped themselves around my feet and ankles. I was stuck. I crouched down and tried to rip away the roots. That's when I noticed my hands. They were covered in blood. The red, hot, sticky liquid ran down my hands and wrists. Slowly, I stood back up. My hands were shaking violently._

_"Whose blood is this?" I spat out. _

_"Why don't you tell me, Stiles?" It laughed and pointed to the Nemeton. _

_Lydia was lying across it. Covered in blood. Her blood. _

_"No. No, no, no, no. LYDIA!" I screamed in her direction. She didn't move. "LYDIA!"_

_"There's nothing you can do, Stiles. She's gone. Forever." It laughed. _

_"No. This isn't real. It's just a dream. It's just a dream. Wake up. Wake up."_

_"You did this, Stiles. Not us. You. It's all your fault. Everything is always your fault." _

_I collapsed onto the ground, my head swimming and my vision blurry. It crouched down in front of me. _

_"I told you, Stiles. We're here. You belong to us now. You. Are. Ours." _

I jolted upright in my bed. I kicked and swung, trying to hit it the man wrapped in bandages. An endless waterfall flowed from my eyes and I couldn't stop the tears from coming, so I let them happen. I was heaving, gasping for breath and clutching my chest, which hurt terribly from working so hard to get air in and out. As far as I could tell, I wasn't injured. My hands weren't covered in blood, there were no roots wrapped around my ankles. Then I remembered.

Lydia.

Was she okay? Had I really hurt her? Oh god what if I had really done something to harm her. I picked up my phone and went to dial her number when I saw the time. 4:18am. I doubt she would be up, but at this point I figured it'd be worth waking her.

The phone rang. Twice. Three times. Then finally,

"Hello?" her voice was cracked and hushed. I'd obviously woken her up.

"Lydia, oh thank god. Are you—are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Stiles what are you—no, I'm fine. What do you mean hurt? Is everything okay?"

Words cannot describe how relieved I felt right now. But then something snapped, and I started to sob uncontrollably, right into the phone where Lydia was listening on the other line. I was shaking, crying hysterically, and I had no idea why.

"Stiles? Stiles, what's wrong, talk to me. Hey, hey it's okay. Everything is all right. Just breathe. Stiles breathe. Why are you crying?"

I took a shaky breath before answering her. "I don't… I don't know." My voice broke. I tilted my head back, furrowed my eyebrows, and closed my eyes, as if trying to will the tears away. It wasn't working.

"I'm coming over." She stated rather than asked. "I'll be over in 10."

I nodded, but then realized she couldn't see me. "Okay."

"Okay." She repeated back to me. Then she hung up and I was alone again.

I was grateful I hadn't woken my dad up, he had worked late the past couple of nights and needed the rest. I went down stairs to wait for Lydia so she didn't have to knock or ring the doorbell when she got here. 7 minutes and 52 seconds later Lydia pulled into the driveway. I opened the front door before she could even shut her car door. She ran over to where I was standing and flung her arms around me. I wrapped my arms around her, trying to bring her as close to me as possible. I buried my head in her hair and breathed a sigh of relief.

Finally she pulled away and I almost whimpered in reluctance. "Why don't we go inside, where it's warmer and the whole world can't see me in my pajamas."

I moved so she could get inside and shut the door. Silence filled the room as she shrugged out of her jacket and kicked off her shoes. We moved to the couch and sat down next to each other, our knees touching and our hands just inches apart.

"You didn't have to come you know. I just—"

"Yes, Stiles, I did. I was not about to just leave you all alone after what just happened." She paused. "What _did_ just happen?"

My mind flashed back to the dream—to the nightmare. I could still visualize it perfectly. The Nemeton, the man with the bandages, her. It all seemed so real. She must have seen the pained expression that plastered my face, because before I could even consider where to begin and how to tell her, she put both of her hands on my face, stroking my cheeks with her thumbs.

"It's okay, Stiles. We don't have to talk about the dream if you don't want to."

"How did you—"

"I've had my fair share of nightmares myself believe it or not. They can be… pretty intense. I know how you must be feeling, and it's alright if you don't want to talk about it. I understand. I know what you're afraid of. Because I'm afraid of it too."

I melted into her, my arms once again finding their home around her waist. Her hands found their way home too, her fingers intertwining with the hair near the bottom of my neck while the other hand traced circles on my back. We sat back on the couch, my head on her shoulder and her hand in mine. She had flipped the TV on, but neither of us was really watching.

"I've had it before. This same nightmare, I've had it before. Except instead of you, it was… it was my mom." I felt her pull me in closer.

"Why don't you tell me about her?" Lydia whispered gently.

"She was… amazing. She really cared, you know? About everyone. My dad, and me, we had it good. We were lucky we got some time with her, even if it was too short. She was kind of lost though. Like sometimes she would forget stuff. But I didn't mind." I yawned as Lydia continued to trace shapes on the back of my neck with her fingertips.

"She would have liked you." I said softly. My eyes fluttered shut, and sleep overcame me.


	5. Stronger in Numbers Pt 1

Friday nights were pizza nights. Every Friday we order one pineapple and ham and one sausage. We leave our phones away from the table and sit together as a family. We talk about normal stuff, the worst and best parts of our weeks, how school is going, how work is going, and politics. Normal stuff. Stuff you take for granted when you live in a world with werewolves and banshees. Tonight was normal. We sat at the table eating our pizza, talking about normal stuff. Then my phone rang.

Usually, I'd let it go to voicemail, but this time was different. This time it was Stiles' ring tone. The first time he called I let it ring. The second time he called I got "the look" from both of my parents. The third time he called, I excused myself and ran to pick it up.

"Hello?" No answer. "Hello? Stiles, you there?" This time I heard him breathing. It was rapid, unsteady, and shaky, like he was gasping for air.

"Stiles, hey. Can you hear me? Stiles?" Silence pounded in my ears.

"Lydia?"

"Yeah, Stiles, I'm here. What's wrong, are you hurt?"

"Lydia, I—I don't… I don't know where I am. I don't know how I got here. I don't know… I can't—I can't remember. Please, I can't… come get me. Please Lydia." He was crying now, I could tell even through the phone. His voice broke off and I heard the leaves crunching beneath his feet as he stumbled through the darkness.

"Stiles, listen to me. I need you to focus okay? Can you do that for me?" I asked gently. He didn't answer, all I heard was mumbling on the other line. "Stiles, hey, listen to me. Focus on my voice okay?"

"Okay." He stammered.

"Okay, I need you to tell me what you see. Look around, give me details."

"I, uh… the ground is mushy, like dirt. Lots of trees, no buildings. There's, uh… oh god. No, no not here. Oh god…"

"Stiles what is it? What do you see?"

"It's—It's that tree. That stupid tree trunk with all the roots. It's the… the—"

"The Nemeton." I finished for him.

"Yeah, yeah the Nemeton. But there's something… it's… glowing? What the—"

"Glowing? Like fire? Stiles, is the tree on fire?"

"No, no it's like, like fireflies." What the hell? Fireflies? In California? "Okay. Stiles? I need you to stay where you are. I'm going to get Scott and then we will come get you. But Stiles? You have to stay where you are okay? We won't be able to find you if you leave."

"No, not Scott. Please, don't tell him. He can't… I don't need him to worry about me too. I'll be fine, I won't move. Just please… Lydia, come get me." His voice wavered.

"I will. I'm coming. You'll be okay, just don't leave that spot."

"Hurry. Please, I don't—wait, I think I heard something."

"Stiles what is it? What did you hear?" The only answer I got was his scream.

I grabbed my keys off the counter, as well as a raincoat and some old hiking boots. The only thing running through my mind was whether of not Stiles was okay. He had to be okay. I needed him to be okay.

"Where are you running off to at this hour, Lydia?" I heard my dad call from the dining room.

"Nowhere, it's… it's nothing. I'll be back later." I didn't even wait for him to respond before I slammed the door behind me. I sprinted to my car, hands shaking as I tried and failed to get the key in to unlock it. _Just breathe. You're going to find him, and he'll be okay._ I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and this time I was able to unlock my car door. I got in and sped off towards The Nemeton. _You're going to find him._

When I arrived at the closest strip of road there was to The Nemeton, I grabbed the extra blanket I kept in my trunk, for when Jackson and I used to go on picnics, and a flashlight. I checked my phone to see if there was anything regarding Stiles. There wasn't. I turned to face the rows and rows of dense forest, and took off running.

"STILES?" I called as I ran. Closer and closer to the enormous tree trunk, but still I heard nothing but the leaves crunching and the twigs snapping beneath my feet. "STILES?" Again, nothing. I could just make out the outline of The Nemeton, picking up speed and running at a pace I didn't know I could hit.

When I finally reached it, I stopped dead in my tracks. Something looked like it had been flung across the base of the tree. I cautiously approached it, edging closer, moving insanely slowly. Then I finally realized not what it was, but who. I gasped, immediately feeling like my throat was closing. Stiles was thrown across The Nemeton like a rag doll. His face was covered in blood. It matted his hair and ran down his cheek.

"No," I croaked. "No, god, please no. Stiles," I cried, running to him. I lifted his head in my hands, shaking his shoulder, selfishly wishing he would just open his eyes, shoot me a crooked smile and say, "Got you."

But he wasn't going to. He was hurt; the blood that stained his body was coming from a small gash on his forehead. Suddenly, his eyes fluttered half-open, and he tried to say something, only to be interrupted by a violent coughing fit.

"Ly…Lydia?" his eyes widened in fear. "Where is he? Where did he go? Don't let him come back, Lydia please. He's gonna… he's gonna take me away. He wants to—"

"Shh, it's me. I'm here. You're gonna be okay. Just try and stay with me for a little while okay? Stiles, hey, can you do that?" He closed his eyes and nodded ever so slightly. I engulfed him in the blanket and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, my arm around his waist supporting most of his weight. He could stand, but I didn't know for how long. His head lolled to the side, like his neck was made of rubber.

We stumbled through the thick forest and somehow made it all the way back to my car. I set him in the passenger seat as fast as I could without doing further damage to his frail state. I ran around to the other side of the car, got in, and sped off. I dialed Scott's number, pleading into my phone as it rang. He picked up on the fourth one.

"Hello?"

"Scott, thank god. Listen, Stiles is hurt. I don't know how serious it is, but he's bleeding. I'm taking him to the hospital and then—"

"No, wait. Take him to Deaton. I'll call him to let him know what's going on and then I'll meet you there. Leaving now, I'll be there in 5."

"Okay. Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"I… I'll be there soon. Just hold tight." He hangs up.

Beside me Stiles began to cough like crazy. He grabbed the armrest closest to me and squeezed through the pain. He was wheezing, like he couldn't get enough air. I put my hand on top of his and squeezed gently, rubbing the back of his hand with my thumb.

"Just breathe, Stiles. We're almost there. Deep breaths, try and go slow. It'll be okay." His grip on the armrest eased up a bit, and he threw his head back in relief. We pulled up to the vet's office within the next two minutes, and I might have broken a few laws to get here so quickly. But at this point I couldn't give less of a shit.

Deaton met me at the door and instinctively wrapped Stiles' other arm around his shoulder, taking on some of the weight.

"What happened?" Deaton asks me as we lay Stiles down on the metal examining table, placing towels under his head for support.

"I don't know he just… he called me about an hour ago, sounded really freaked out. He told me he didn't know how he got there, like he didn't even remember leaving the house. When I got there I found him like this, barely conscious and covered in his own blood."

"Where exactly is 'there?' Where did you find him?" Deaton asked, his eyes burning holes in mine.

"The Nemeton. He was laying across the base of The Nemeton."

Deaton turned away, running his hand down his face and stopping at his chin, stroking a non-existent beard, thinking. He went over to the first aid kit that sat in one of the many supply cabinets that lined the walls. He pulled out some simple supplies: gauze, disinfectant wipes, medical tape, things like that.

"Fortunately, the gash on his head isn't too bad. It doesn't need stitches." Deaton said as he patched the wound. "However it's not what's on his head that I'm worried about. I'm worried about what's in his head. The mind can play tricks on us. Some of these tricks can seem very real, creating people and places that aren't really there." Deaton explained.

"So you think Stiles is crazy." I stated rather than asked. "Crazy like, how I was crazy? Or crazy like there's someone controlling his every move and he can't do anything about it?" I didn't mean to get defensive, but this isn't something to be taken lightly. There is a huge difference between being crazy and being controlled by a supernatural force. In this town, anything is possible.

"I'm not saying he's crazy. I'm saying that the door your three friends opened that night is still open. Anything, and anyone can get in. I think Stiles' subconscious is desperately trying to keep whatever is trying to get in out, but this, whatever this is… it's strong. Too strong, maybe, even for Stiles. Remember, Lydia; people are stronger in numbers. I think that if you stick with him, help him keep fighting, he might be able to beat this. If he has someone to fight for, someone he loves, I do believe he can do this. Right now, Stiles feels like he is alone, like he has no one. That's why he's losing. It's not that he can't do it, it's that he's not sure if he wants to."

"Stiles is not alone. Stiles has never been alone. He has me, his dad, Isaac, Allison, hell, even the twins." I responded

"He has me." Both Lydia and Deaton turned to see Scott standing in the doorway, dirt bike helmet in hand. "He's always had me. But I'm not enough. He needs you Lydia. He loves you. He will fight for you." I turned back to Deaton, eyes wide with anticipation.

"What do I need to do?"


	6. Stronger in Numbers Part 2

When Stiles finally woke up 16 hours later, everyone had left Deaton's office except me. I sat here, all alone with the shell of what used to be a happy-go-lucky, hyperactive 17-year-old boy. Now, he looked pale, fragile, and exhausted. Even when he was asleep, he looked tired.

He bolted upright, gasping for air and swinging his arms as if trying to punch the air away. I stood up and told hold of his wrists, holding them steady so he didn't accidentally punch himself in the face and cause further damage.

"Stiles. Stiles, calm down. It's okay. Hey, it's me, it's Lydia. You're alright. Just calm down. Remember to breathe. That's it, you're okay." I said in a calm but firm voice.

He stared at me, eyes wide in fear, but then relaxed a bit when he realized who I was. His arms stopped flailing and hung limp in my grip. He cautiously swung his legs off the metal table and sat. His eyes frantically searched the room.

"Wh—where am I?" he whispered.

"Deaton's office. He and Scott were here earlier. Deaton patched you up and sent Scott to your house to tell your dad you're okay." I explained as I hopped up on the table beside him, our legs swinging in unison.

"Scott was here? Did he… I mean is he-?"

"No, no Scott's fine. Don't worry about it, he's okay."

Stiles exhaled, running a hand over his face. "What the—" he ran a finger over the bandaging on his forehead. "What is this?"

"When I found you, you had a gash on your forehead. That's why I brought you here. Well, actually I was going to bring you to the hospital, but according to Scott that wouldn't have been the best idea."

"Found me? What do you mean 'found me?' I was lost?"

"You… you don't remember, do you?" Stiles shook his head. "You called me earlier, saying that you didn't know where you were or how you got there. Then you told me you saw The Nemeton, and so I got in my car and went to find you. You sounded really scared, terrified, even. Like there was—like there was someone else with you. Someone who wanted to hurt you. You screamed before the line went dead, but when I got there you were alone."

Memories flooded Stiles' mind like a tidal wave. He remembered now, where he was. He remembered calling her. He remembered who he was so afraid of. That man, the one with all the bandages. He was there. He was the one who hurt him. Stiles was sure.

"It was him. He was there, Lyd, I saw him. He was there, at The Nemeton. He hurt me."

"Hey…" I took one of his hands in both of mine and held it tight. "Everything is alright, you're safe now. Okay? No one is going to hurt you here." He lifted his gaze to meet mine, his eyes full of fear and pain. I wanted so badly to make it all go away.

"That man, that _thing,_ even after all that…time, even after everything he owns me. I can't… there's nothing. There's nothing I can do, I… I thought I was free. But I'm not. He controls me, he still controls me. He owns me, Lyd. He owns me. He owns me. He owns me."

He was sobbing now, shaking with emotion. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close. He flung his arms around me too, burying his face in my shoulder. Sobs racked through him, making him twitch and shake and there was nothing he could do except let it happen. I had seen him upset, but never like this. His shaking hands were hidden in my hair, and he pulled himself closer to me, as if he was trying to make himself smaller. I traced circles on his back, like I had done so many times before.

"I'm here, Stiles. I don't know how yet, but we're going to get you through this. I'm going to get you through this. I promise. Okay?"

He only nodded.

~O~

7 days later, Stiles hadn't shown up to school all week. I approached Scott in the hallway, figuring if anyone knew where he had been it was him.

"Hey, have you heard from Stiles? I've tried calling him but he hasn't been answering."

"I spoke with the Sheriff. Stiles hasn't left his room since you brought him home last Friday. I went over there yesterday but he wouldn't talk to me. He was balled up in the corner with all the lights off and the shades down. All he kept saying was 'Don't let him in.' Over and over. Nothing else, just those words. I don't know what to do." Scott's eyes were brimmed with tears that threatened to fall. I took his hand and gave him a weak smile. He whispered, "I don't know how to help him."

"Hey, don't worry okay? I'll go over there after school and try. I'll call you if anything happens."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise. I'll see you later okay?" Scott nodded and we parted ways, both heading to the last class of the day.

~O~

The Stilinski house was eerily quiet. The Sheriff's patrol car was gone, but Stiles' Jeep sat in the driveway collecting dust. I knocked on the door, half expecting Stiles to swing it open with smile and a slice of pizza in his mouth and say "what took you so long?" But that didn't happen. I didn't have a key, so I plucked a few bobby pins out of my hair and picked the lock. The door opened, revealing an empty living room and kitchen. Normally, that's where you'd find Stiles, stuffing his face with any and all junk food they had in their house. But not today. I climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway to Stiles' room. I knocked three times. Nothing.

"Stiles? Stiles are you in there? It's me, Lydia." Again, nothing.

I cracked the door open, just enough to stick my head through and look around. It was dark, except for the small slivers of light that escaped through his closed curtains. It was enough, however, to see him. In the corner, sitting in between the wall and his bookshelf and hugging his knees. His hair was a mess; spiked in every direction. There were dark purple bags under his eyes that only showed that prominently when a person didn't sleep for several days.

"Don't let him in. Don't let him in. Don't let him in."

"Stiles?" I said again, cautiously walking towards him. As I got closer his voice got louder.

"Don't let him in. Don't let him in. Don't let him in."

I kicked off my shoes and shrugged out of my coat, throwing them both on his bed. I sat down cross-legged in front of him. "Stiles?" I repeated, silently pleading for him to say something back. He didn't. He was shaking, trembling violently as if he was freezing. His breath was insanely unsteady, he was gasping for air but then struggled to get it back out again.

"Don't let him in. Don't let him in. Don't let him in."

I placed one hand on his knee, and he stopped repeating the phrase. Silence now screamed at me, his labored breathing became the only audible thing in the whole house.

"I have to admit, I'm not a person who stops to give second thoughts about people like you. I don't do that, I don't stop which is… I don't stop but I stopped for you, you made me stop. It was your eyes. You had… the saddest eyes. They were sadder than mine." I paused and took a deep breath. "The thing is, Stiles, you always say that I saved you, that you were lucky that someone like me even noticed someone like you. That's not true, it's not even close to true. I had been all alone for… a very long time. There are moments… people who—somehow they convinced me that I'm wrong. That I'm not alone, that I have something to—people let you down. People hurt you. People lie. I am… all alone. Except for you. Scott and Alison and Isaac are… we take care of them. We love them. But they don't live on the dark side of the moon. They're different. So Stiles, I need you to snap out of this, whatever this is, whatever happened to you. You _have_ to come back to me. I need you. You are all I have, you are… everything. Because I didn't save you, you saved me."

Our eyes locked. They stayed locked. I felt tears fall from my eyes but I didn't acknowledge them.

"I think I saw my mom. Something happened in my head and I think I saw her, but I don't remember if it was real… or if I imagined it." He choked out.

"What do you think?" I half-spoke half-whispered.

He broke, and began to cry. "I think it was real."

I nodded. "Then it was real. Then she was there."

"It was real."

I nodded again. "It was."

"I did terrible things."

"We all do terrible things."

He took my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back. He nodded. It wasn't just a nod, though. It was an apology, a thank-you, and a promise all in one. I stood up and held out both of my hands to help him up. He took them and slowly stood up, his legs cramped and numb from disuse. I placed my hand on his cheek and wiped the tears with my thumb. He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. I felt him exhale in relief, and then he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around my waist. I pulled him in close and hugged him back. That's when I knew; everything was going to be okay.

Stiles was home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Another one-shot. Allison and Aiden are not dead. **

Lydia hadn't seen or heard from Stiles all day. Usually, he would leave a voicemail or shoot her a text to tell her something was up. But not today. Today, Lydia's phone had been quiet, aside from Facebook notifications and texts from people she didn't know all too well.

At the end of 7th period, she decided something was wrong with her friend. She picked up her phone and dialed the all too familiar digits. It went straight to voicemail, which meant Stiles' phone was either dead or off. Stiles' phone was never dead.

She was so absorbed in her phone that Lydia nearly plowed over Danny.

"Oh! Sorry Danny, I was… sorry." She knelt down to help him pick up the books that had dropped from his grip.

"No worries. Mind if I ask what was so important?" he asked, gesturing to her phone. Lydia hesitated.

"It's really not that big of a deal, just trying to reach Stiles." She handed him his Geometry notebook.

"Oh, actually, I overheard Scott in the locker room this morning. He um—Stiles is at some cemetery. I don't really know much about it, but Scott sounded worried." Lydia froze. Stiles was visiting his mother's grave. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

"It's cool." Danny said. "I'll cover for you. You should go. He probably wants you there, just didn't know how to say it." They both stood up.

"I… thank you." She put a hand on his shoulder before turning and walking as fast as she could to her car in the student lot. On the way to Beacon Hill Cemetery, Lydia stopped at her house to grab some food for Stiles, figuring he had been there all day and hadn't thought to take care of himself. She made him a turkey sandwich with lettuce and tomatoes. She knew from past experience that it was better not to eat junk food when you're sad, even if that's what you think you want.

As she pulled into the cemetery's parking lot, she took a deep breath. She hated it here. Too many voices; people she couldn't help. She grabbed the food and left her phone in the car, figuring whoever wanted to reach her could wait; Stiles needed her right now.

She walked past rows and rows of headstones. It seemed like forever until she finally saw him; a blue hoodie pulled tight around him, as if he was trying to make himself smaller. Cautiously, Lydia walked up beside him and sat.

"How did you know I was here?" Stiles started, his throat dry.

"Danny." Stiles gave her a look. "It's a long story." She finished. He turned back to stare at nothing in particular. "I don't know if you've eaten anything all day, but I brought this." She continued, handing the sandwich to Stiles. He looked at her like she had just given him the world, his eyes glazed over and hazy. She nodded slightly and he gave her a weak smile before taking the sandwich and pulling it out of the tin-foil wrapping.

"Thank you." Stiles mumbled, his mouth full. "You're right."

"What?"

"I haven't—" he swallowed. "eaten all day." He paused before speaking again. "She used to make me lunch, you know. Everyday. She would right a note on a napkin and put it in my bag for me to find. Sometimes, she would even draw little picture. Those were the best days, because she was really good at drawing. Even when she got sick, she still wrote me notes. I still have some of them I think, in a box in my room or something. I should probably throw them away soon, they're just taking up space and they're pretty embarrassing. I don't even know what I would do if someone saw—" Lydia placed a hand on his knee.

"Don't. Don't throw them away. They're a part of you, a part of her. Don't throw them away. And you don't have to be embarrassed. At least not with me." She said softly. Stiles sniffled and looked down at her hand on his knee; studied the lines and the curves of her slender fingers. Then he looked down at his, which was trembling. He balled up his fist and dug his nails into his palm in hopes of making the shaking stop. "It's okay, you know." Lydia began. "To miss her, to… feel sad, to remember her. It's okay. You are allowed to grieve. Even after all this time, it's okay." She took his shaking hand in hers and held it steady.

"I did this." Stiles whispered, barely audible. He was staring at her headstone.

"No, Stiles. You didn't." She assured him.

"Why did she leave me?" Lydia took a deep breath before answering, choosing her words carefully.

"She hasn't left you. Her memory is still alive. And it will be, forever. She's still alive, in photos, in videos, in little notes scribbled on napkins." She paused. "They say when you die, you die twice. One time when you stop breathing, and a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time. So it's up to you now. Don't forget. Let go, but don't forget. Never forget. Because if you forget, then she'll really be gone. But she's not. She's not gone. Her legacy is alive and well. So keep it that way. I'll help you keep it that way. You and me, okay?" He scooted closer to her and rested his head on her shoulder, his spiky hair tickling her neck. She rested her cheek on the top of his head.

After a little while, they decided to say goodbye to Stiles' mother for now, promising to come back and visit. Stiles tried and failed to hide his tears from Lydia, but she just put her arm around his waist and pulled him close. Not a judgmental or doubtful bone in her body.

They walked down the dirt path carved in the thirsty grass of the cemetery, hands brushing against one another and shoulders barely touching. They reached a decent sized tree and mutually agreed it was a good place to sit and just… be.

"Hey um… thanks for coming here." He paused. "I just… needed to see her and I… I wanted you to come with me but I didn't know how to—just 'hey come with me to see my dead mom. It'll be fun, except I'll probably cry.'" He coughed nervously and fidgeted with his hands. Lydia smiled at him with sad eyes.

"I think you look handsome when you cry." He huffed out a laugh, but Lydia saw though his smile. "You don't always have to be the hero, Stiles. You can't save everyone. And that's okay. It's not your fault."

"I'm not a hero."

"You are. To me, to Scott, to your dad, and to your mom. But even heroes need to rest sometimes. When's the last time you got a good night's sleep?" She asked, taking note of the dark circles under Stiles' eyes. He tried to shake it off.

"Freshman year." He joked.

"Ha ha, very funny. You should quit your job, go on the road."

"I'm here all week." Stiles said mid-yawn. A comfortable silence filled the air for a moment. "Honestly… I haven't really been sleeping. I can't—I just, I close my eyes and I see everyone I care about being ripped away from me, while I just sit there. I want to fight back but I can't. I can't move, I can't do anything. It's literally making me crazy. I can't—" his voice broke.

"Stiles, I know crazy. I've been crazy. You are not crazy. You're exhausted. You need to let yourself relax. Take off your armor. Sleep, Stiles."

"But what if… they get in. What if they take you away while I'm asleep, and—and I wake up and you're gone?" Stiles' bottom lip began to quiver, but Lydia gently ran her fingers over his face, starting at his temples and ending at his jawline. His eyes slid closed, giving into the soft touch.

"I'm not leaving you Stiles. I'll be here when you wake up, and every day after that." Stiles sniffled.

"Promise, Lyd?"

"I promise." She said. "Now try and sleep, Stilinski. I'll be right here with you." They shifted into a semi-comfortable position under the tree, their hands and legs intertwined. Stiles head on Lydia's chest, lulled to sleep by the steady beat of her heart.


	8. Chapter 8

I kept a journal when I… wasn't really _me._ Some of it I remember writing. Some of it I don't. It's a weird feeling. I kind of forgot about it till now, but I found it the other day, and I read through a few pages.

_Feb. 16, 2:47am_

_I can't bring myself to say the things I'm thinking out loud. So I'll write them down here. I won't show this to anyone, but if anyone does happen to find this, so be it. Now they know. Oh well. _

_Something's wrong with me. I feel like there's something inside my head trying to take over. _

_It started not too long ago, maybe a few months or so. I can't put an exact date on it because it didn't come all at once. It came slowly, day by day. Some days I feel everything at once. Others I feel nothing at all. I don't know which is better: being crushed by the waves, or dying of the thirst. _

_The days I feel everything are the worst. It's hard to go out because I feel like every single person I pass in the hallway is judging me. I'm annoying, too hyperactive. Trust me, I know. I can tell when people don't like me or are bored with me and that is literally the worst feeling in the world. You can see it in their faces, or the way they look anywhere but at you. I use sarcasm and humor to cover up the pain and the fear that is constantly overwhelming me. People don't notice. I must be good at this. I don't cut myself. I've thought about it, believe me I have. But I've never worked up the nerve to actually do it. _

_The days I feel nothing are hard too, but not nearly as hard as the other days. These days I couldn't give less of a shit about the people around me. Even my family and closest friends. If they don't find me socially acceptable, fine. Fuck them. We're all going to die someday. No one cares, like really cares about you until you die. So what's the point? _

_Mar. 4, 1:29am _

_Some days I'm in a really good mood, and then people will come in and shoot me down. And I know what you're thinking. Typical, 17 year old boy who hates the world. Of course. But no, I don't hate the world. I just don't think people fully understand what's going on. Which is totally fine, it's not like I'm telling them anything anyway. They're clueless. Dad thought I was depressed for a long time. I'm not depressed. I get sad sometimes, but I'm not depressed. At least I don't think I am. Who knows? Maybe I am as fucked up as everyone else. _

_Mar. 10, 4:17am _

_I think about death sometimes. I'm not suicidal, but I think that if someone were to kill me I wouldn't be too scared. The idea of death doesn't really scare me. I know that sounds bad, but I just think it'd be easy. No one to judge my every move. No grades to keep up with. You can't get hurt because you're already dead. So really I don't see what the big fuss is about. If you die, then you die. Oh well. Nothing you can do about it now. _

_Mar. 26, 1:33am _

_I'm writing this now, at 1:33am. I don't know why. I'm tired, exhausted actually. But I can't sleep. I haven't had a good night sleep in a really long time. I stay up, not because I'm doing anything important, but because I can't quiet my thoughts. I think myself into bad moods. The nightmares are back. I used to get them when mom died, really bad ones. They went away for a little, but they're back now. I talk myself into panic attacks, where the only thing I can do is curl up in a ball on my bed and cry. Then, just as fast as it came, it's gone. I wipe the tears, lie down and stare at the wall until my eyes get tired and I let them close. _

_Apr. 8, 3:52am _

_My hands have been shaking a lot lately. It started during first semester finals. I thought it was just the stress of school, and that it would stop once I finished the tests but it hasn't. I can't hold a pen or type without fucking everything up. I can't stop the shaking no matter what I do. I crack my knuckles, hoping that it will help but knowing it won't. _

_Apr. 29, 1:16am _

_I was wrong. I am scared of death. I'm really scared. I don't want to die. If anyone finds this, please, save me. I don't want to die. Not yet. _

That's the last time I wrote. I probably won't tell anyone this. Ever. But hey, who knows. If someone finds this journal, so be it. They know everything now.


	9. Prompts?

Hey guys! I'm slowly running out of ideas for this story. So, if you guys have any prompts you want me to write based off of, just message me or put it in the reviews, whichever is easier. It could be anything from rated G to...not rated G. Just ask away! Thanks! ihadtoputitsomewhere 


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